


Time and Tide

by Jixico



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jixico/pseuds/Jixico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler is a successful captain of a pirate vessel. Ruthless, driven, and fiercely beautiful, with very rare blonde hair, she is every merchant vessel’s nightmare. However there is more to her than meets the eye. The <i>Bad Wolf</i> and its crew turn a tidy profit, but where is the money going? And just how far will Rose go to achieve her ends?<br/>When a mysterious stranger in a long coat is found floating in the water and hauled aboard, will this change the path she has set for herself?<br/>Only one thing is certain on the sea: time and tide wait for no man… or woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Driftwood

**Author's Note:**

> As much research as I did for this, I made a lot of stuff up. Apologies in advance to anyone who knows anything about either ships or pirates.  
> Also if any of this seems incredibly familiar to the Pirates of the Caribbean movies (or sinbad, legend of the seven seas for that matter), it’s because I’m a massive fangirl and couldn’t help myself. 
> 
> This fic will contain standard amounts of piratey things - looting, killing, raping, pillaging, plundering etc. but it shouldn't get too heavy. 
> 
> This chapter contains small mentions of rape and violence.

‘So what do you make of this Master Smith?’

‘It’s a fair likeness, Captain.’ First mate Mickey Smith said seriously before they both barked a laugh.

Rose picked up the wanted poster from the chart table and surveyed it with a tongue-touched, if rueful, smile.

‘Don’t suppose you know which member of the crew it belongs to then?’ She asked. He shook his head, humour still glinting in his chocolate eyes, expression pulled to his brow with scars.

‘More than one of ‘em’s a bit sweet on you. Not surprising really, with the hair and all, let alone you being a lady.’

She glanced up and caught a bit of his own sweetness in his look before he hid it away again. She ignored it. It was all routine by this point.

‘So you don’t suspect mutiny?’

The first mate shook his head again.

‘Not even the new ones who don’t know the full goings on would wanna cross you. The rest of ‘em respect you enough, with the way profits are going especially. Most likely they just picked it up at the last port for a bit of, ah... relief.’

She nodded in agreement, looking again at her likeness scratched into the paper in ink. It was unlikely a member of her crew would be interested in turning her in for the profit, but you could never be too careful. The latter was much more probable.

He cleared his throat.

‘Should we do a public show of it, keep ‘em on their toes in case?’

‘No,’ She said and he raised his eyebrows, ‘We need to keep the focus on this ship ahead. I’ve got a feeling it’s well worth our attention, I don’t want to risk cocking it up because of some randy sailor like in that incident with The _Harp_.’

They both grimaced at the memory; Rose for the masses of blood she’d been covered in, and Mickey in painful sympathy. The fact was that some men learned slower than others, and some lessons couldn’t be taught twice. It was difficult to try to force yourself on a woman again when you no longer had anything to do any forcing with.

‘No, just stick it up somewhere public with a knife and hope they get the message.’

She rolled up the poster and handed it to him, then strode from the navigation room onto the deck.

The sun blazed high in the sky, drawing glistening sweat from the backs of her crew as they scampered from deck to rigging. She approached the rail with her first mate still at her side and cast her eyes over the ocean.

Despite the harsh light reflected off the water she could see the distant shape of a fluyt on the horizon. This kind of ship was their ideal prey, designed to carry large amounts of cargo with a relatively minimal crew. It would be easily outrun by their brigantine, and found a sitting duck in the open water. A prize waiting to be snatched.

But one could never be too careful. Men had died for less. Dying did not fit into her plan.

And her gut was telling her to wait.

‘Captain!’ A voice shouted from the top of the rigging.

‘Aye?’

‘Flotsam ahead ma’am!’

‘What manner?’

‘Looks to be part of a wreckage. Wood at least.’

She frowned into the sun. Wood was always useful, provided it wasn’t waterlogged. And if the merchant fluyt chose to resist it would be useful indeed to patch up both ships afterwards and sell the vessel along with its cargo. Or put it to other uses. A tidy profit in any sense, though it meant they’d be forced to deal with prisoners.

‘Prepare to salvage!’ She barked to her men, repeating the order along the deck as she made her way to the prow to see for herself. The first mate took to the helm at her nod.

Sure enough there was wood drifting towards them, though only barely enough to be of use. Nevertheless it was a situation to be taken advantage of.

As she was about to turn away something caught her eye. It was difficult to see from this distance, and with the sun’s blinding rays it was impossible to be certain, but it seemed there was more than wood amongst the flotsam.

She retrieved the short spyglass from her vest pocket and squinted into it. The shape in the distance immediately became perceivable. She waited, eye fixed on it. It looked brown and sodden, whatever it was. It was a few moments before she recognized it as the shape of a man’s back slumped over the boom of a mast.

‘Man overboard to starboard!’ She yelled over her shoulder, ‘And flotsam too. Any bets for living or dead?’

Good natured yelling and cajoling went up among the sailors as the news passed between them and to the helmsman with Mickey at his elbow. The ship gradually shifted starboard and dropped speed as the crew worked instinctively to follow her unsaid orders.

It wasn’t long before the boom and the man slumped over it drifted by the ship. With some well aimed grappling hooks they pulled it along side, close enough to haul the man onto the ship.

He landed in a pile on the deck with the slop of heavy, wet clothing.

‘Get him on his stomach man, let the water out of him if he’s still living.’ Mickey scolded the bearded man known affectionately as Bilge who’d pulled him aboard. The man obliged with a grunt. Clearly he’d had money on a drowning.

Salt water leaked from the man’s lips in a pool as Rose approached. She knelt beside his head.

‘Well, well, navy type.’ She said, flicking a hand at the detailing on the shoulders of his coat. She grabbed his wet hair and angled his face toward her.

‘Not bad looking’ Mickey muttered to her as he came to kneel beside her.

‘Jack would probably think so. You know him?’

He thought back to his dealings with the navy and shook his head.

‘Doesn’t mean he’s not someone important though.’

She grunted in assent.

‘Ask Loufish in any case. He’s been at this longer than us. Course it won’t matter if he’s a dead fish after all.’ She muttered and dropped his head back to the deck with a thump. Suddenly the man made a pained noise and began a spluttering, gasping cough.

Bilge swore behind them, his mates laughing and asking him to pay up. Mickey shot them an unamused look and they scampered back to their duties.

Rose waited while the man pulled himself together, but made no move to offer help. She pulled back only a little as he vomited more water over the deck and himself, the acrid smell no worse than any other on a ship reeking of body odour and rotting fish. He pushed himself up a little and tried to speak, only to be racked with more painful coughing.

‘’M on th’ tardis?’ He croaked past a sandpaper throat.

‘You’re aboard the _Bad Wolf_ , sailor.’ She said.

His head snapped up to look at her, eyes out of focus and bleary. She watched his dark eyes take in her feminine face and blonde hair before they closed and his head hit the deck once more.

‘M’dead?’ He choked again.

She barked a laugh.

‘Not yet. Master Gin, take this driftwood to the surgeon, get some water and bread into him. He might be some use to us yet.’ She jumped to her feet and turned on her heel as the crew member followed her orders. She approached the rail to once again check the progress of their prey.

It sat scarcely further on the horizon than before, only a little surprising with their current gentle breeze. She was moving slowly, perhaps having been damaged during her sail. Rose nodded to herself. This was a good opportunity. Perhaps they wouldn’t need the extra boom that was now drying itself on the deck, having been hauled aboard while she tended to their new prisoner.

‘Men, fly the false colours! We approach her slow and steady. With a favourable wind we’ll see her cargo in our hold and her food in our bellies by tomorrow evening.’

A cheer went up among her men. Rose had things to do in the mean time, a meeting with the master gunner and boatswain a high priority. But in the very back of her mind she still pondered their new addition.

What were the chances a man could be found alive in the middle of the ocean? She had a gut feeling about him, and she wasn’t sure what it meant.


	2. Smiths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious man wakes up and promptly puts his foot in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning. They are pirates, after all. 
> 
> I write short chapters, I'm afraid. Apologies, but writing isn't my forte.  
> I enjoy it nonetheless.

It was still night when the Doctor woke with a jolt. He sat up with a groan, dreamy memories of horror flickering in his mind’s eye, and buried his face in his hands. He quickly stopped. His face and hands stung. Why did they sting? He frowned only to find that hurt too, and made his face feel tight. The stinging parts of him also felt very hot. Was he sunburnt? He must be sunburnt. He groaned again, suddenly remembering the long hours spent clinging to the boom, roasting in the sun. Rightly he should be dead.

The Doctor cast his eyes about his surroundings. Silver light filtered through a porthole on one wall, illuminating the scarce furnishings in the tiny room: a chest, a shelf filled with books, and a small table by the bed on which he lay. His eye caught on a flask on the table, and he reached for it, noting how heavy his arms felt, and how difficult it was to move, even slowly. He uncorked it and brought it jerkily to his lips, gulping the liquid down greedily. He was grateful for the rum that spiked the water, despite the sting it left on his raw throat. It slopped over his chin, and the cool trickle felt like bliss on his burnt skin.

When he had his fill he replaced the flask and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He got up carefully on shaky legs, noting that he wore nothing but a pair of coarse breeches.

He stumbled with the roll of the ship, falling against the wall with the porthole. Edging across the room, using the wall for support, he eventually made his way to the door. He opened it with a grunt and made to step outside.

It was then a cutlass lazily swung across his body to block his path.

‘Looks like someone woke up’ A high voice said with a chuckle. The Doctor peered at the source of the voice, the person holding the sword at his chest. It was little more than a dark shape leaning against the cabin’s outer wall, concealed in shadow. It looked smaller than the average sailor. Just a lad then.

‘That’s not a nice welcome now is it?’ The Doctor replied hoarsely, leaning against the doorframe for support himself. ‘You’d think you’d have some manners in addressing a fellow sailor. Guess the sea’s just not what it used to be.’

A dark chuckle sounded from the lad again. There was something curious about that sound, but his addled brain couldn’t quite pick out what it was.

‘You s’pose we care about that sort of thing?’ It asked and he frowned.

‘Is this a privateer vessel?’

The sword bumped against his chest, and as his mind caught up his stomach dropped.

‘Ah. Pirate.’

His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat nervously.

‘Don’t suppose a nice young lad like you might want to just let me on my way? Hop in a longboat and get out of your hair? How’s that sound? You can tell the captain that his quarter’s were very hospitable, and I’m very grateful, though the blankets did smell a touch like vomit, though that may have been my doing… You can apologise to him for that for me, even. How’s that sound?’

‘I’m sure our captain would be glad to hear it.’ A deeper voice called. Another dark figured approached from the Doctor’s right, again cloaked in shadow.

‘That I would be.’ Said the small figure with the sword.

‘What?’ The Doctor choked.

The small figure stepped out of the shadow to reveal a woman. The sharp silvery shadows of the moonlight revealed the soft and beautiful curves of a ruthless face, and set her unmistakably pale hair aglow.

‘What?’ He choked again.

‘What’s your name?’ She asked, ignoring him.

‘Uh. Smith. John Smith.’

Both the captain and the other man barked a laugh.

‘Nice try, but we’ve got three of those already. Try again.’

His eyes flicked across her face, recognition suddenly sparked. His stomach jumped up to his throat.

‘Rose Tyler,’ He gasped.

‘That one’s taken too, mate.’ The other man said, bemused.  
The woman raised her cutlass to his throat. He stared at her, mouth open, but said nothing.

‘Alright then, we'll leave it for tomorrow then. Master Smith, could you take master Smith down below? I’ll trust you both to know which is which and not to swap places on the way there.’

The other man flashed her a white-toothed smile as she sheathed her sword.

‘Don’t think there’s much of a worry captain, he seems to be a little wobbly on his feet.’

The first mate laughed as he dragged the man across the deck by his shoulder, supporting him as he stumbled against the rolling of the ship.

The Doctor cursed himself mentally for the trust he’d placed in his own luck. He had been foolish to think he might have survived against all odds and then found himself on a friendly vessel. Although, it was perhaps something he deserved. He deserved punishment, in any case.

He did not resist as Mickey pushed him into a cell below deck, and in return got another flask tossed to him through the cell bars. It seemed they didn’t want him to perish, and overall their treatment of him had been kind, even housing him in the captain’s quarters as he recovered.

It was with thoughts of his not too distant future that he slumped against the wall, with no sign of sleep in sight.

 

***

 

'Captain!' A member of her crew yelled, banging on the door to her quarters.

'Aye?' She called back, groggily. She cracked an eye open. Through the porthole she could see it was dark, stars still scattered in the sky.

'The prisoner escaped the cell ma'am!'

She swore, sitting up, already shoving boots on her feet.

'How long ago? Has he gotten far?'

'No ma'am! We caught him. Nod and Darryl are minding him now.'

'Then what the fuck are you waking me for?' She seethed. An uncomfortable shuffling came from the door.

'We was just wondering what we should do with him ma'am, since he escaped the cell and all. He might do it again.'

She picked up her boot and threw it at the door, satisfied when the bang made the man behind it yelp.

'Then tie him to the mast, Grady, you fuckwit! And if you wake me again without good cause I'll make sure it's you they string up!'

After a moment of silence, footfalls on wood told her the man was retreating. 

She cursed herself for putting him on that night's watch. He was a new hand, and a good enough sailor, but it seemed Grady was also an idiot. Nod would have told him not to wake her but... No, that was it. The wanted poster was obviously his. Only an idiot like him would expect a reward for catching a half dead man, and it didn't take a genius to guess what reward he'd fancy. Perhaps the sailor hadn't escaped at all.

She made a mental note to sort him out later, at a more reasonable hour.

For now she collapsed back into her scratchy woollen blankets with a sigh, nuzzling her head into the pillow. The prisoner was right, it did smell of vomit, but she probably smelt of worse. It also smelt of the half drowned man, a not entirely unpleasant scent. 

It was warm, distinctly masculine, and reminded her vaguely of a time when she was younger, when her father was still alive. She clung to the feeling, let it fill her mind and memory. It would be useful fuel for the day ahead, to drive her onwards a little longer. 

She fell back into the abyss of sleep quickly. For once there were no nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a nothing chapter, wasn't it? Hm, we'll see.


	3. Gunpowder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose properly meets the Doctor.  
> The Wolf gets to stretch her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am excited for this chapter. That's all I'm going to say.

Rose emerged from her quarters well after the other sailors. The sun was well up, and they’d been at work for hours. Sleep ins were hardly a quality of a good captain. He knew from experience that most captains were up at the crack of dawn and already barking orders, him included. But then she was hardly like most captains in any respect.

He craned his head to watch her from his position tied to the mast.

The first mate approached her and immediately began speaking in her ear in hushed tones. As she stifled a yawn it struck him how young she was.

How could this girl be the Rose Tyler he’d heard about? It was a name among a long list of ruthless scallywags they’d been trained to keep a watch for, and hunt down given the opportunity. Cheek by jowl, tales of this wily and dangerous temptress rivalled those of mass murderers and plunderers. He knew he was not mistaken in her identity, who else could she be with hair like that? But the stories just didn’t seem to connect with what he saw before him.

She was beautiful, yes, that much both sides had in common. But where bloodlust and brutality should have resided in her expression, he saw none. She seemed ill fitted to this lifestyle.

Had he still been woefully dehydrated and starving, this would have been the judgement he passed on her. But as his stomach sloshed with watery grog and scraps of meat and bread, his mind remained wary of the entire situation.

For what possible reason could a band of hardened miscreants elect and retain this young girl as their master and commander? Surely many others were more fit for the position. That first mate was a likely contender, and the men seemed respectful to him despite the colour of his skin. That spoke volumes on its own.

Together they were a rare, strange pair; a black man and blonde girl, leaders of the pirate vessel _The Bad Wolf._

He’d asked a sailor the ship’s name earlier that morning, confirming the strange, swimming, half-memory he had of the captain telling him herself.

He watched as they finished discussing whatever the pressing matter at hand was, and both sets of eyes flicked in his direction.

He raised a hand in a wave.

The captain dismissed her first mate with a nod, then made her way over to him, commenting on crewmates’ progress in their various tasks as she went.

He met her with a smile.

‘Do you often sleep in past sun up?’ He asked cheerfully, voice already recovering from the previous days’ punishment.

‘Are you always this chipper in the morning?’ She moaned, unsuccessfully hiding another yawn. She snorted when she saw his shit-eating grin.

‘God, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stand you for.’

He averted his eyes, trying to look casual.

‘How long were you planning on standing me for?’

‘That’ll be up to you.’

‘Oh?’ He said, quirking an eyebrow. He stared at her, eyes dark with curiosity.

She shook her head, looking out on the horizon. They’d made steady headway towards the merchant fluyt since the day before. Yesterday she had been a small, dark, angular shape drifting between sea and sky. Today they could see the colour of her wood.

‘Not now. We’ll talk about your situation properly when we’re both less tied up.’ She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye in time to see him burst with sudden laughter. A smile tilted at the corner of her lips, taken in by his infectious joy.

‘So I take it you’ve been fed and watered?’

He hummed happily in assent.

‘They let my arms free too after I asked them which one of them was going to hand feed me.’ He waggled his fingers in emphasis and she rolled her eyes.

‘Oh and I happened to meet a few of your other John Smiths,’ He grimaced jestingly at the memory, ‘Not sure I really want to be thrown in with that lot.’

She muffled a snicker with her hand and hoped desperately that none of the nearby crew was listening.

‘Mm, you better decide what you want us to call you quick then, before someone else beats you to it. Not everyone gets a pleasant nickname like Nod here.’ She threw a nod to an enormous, burly man who was walking by with a barrel in his arms. Nod nodded back.

‘Can’t imagine why they’d give him a pleasant name...’ he muttered, eyeing the man’s bulging muscles. A smile tugged at Rose’s mouth again and he smiled back.

‘We could call you Driftwood. It would certainly suit you, for the way you came to us and for you being built like a twig.’

John's look turned wistful despite her jab as he contemplated the chance for change. This felt like it could be a turning point if he chose it to be. A man could become a different person with a new name. It tempted him for a moment, the chance to discard his past failures before they had the chance to catch up with him. In reality though, he knew he could never let himself. There was too much still left behind for him.

He sighed.

‘I was a ship’s doctor in the navy. I’ve been called the Doctor for a long time now. It feels more like my name than my real name does at this point. You could call me that if your own ship’s doctor doesn’t mind.’

‘I doubt Loufish would care. He’s more the ship’s cook than its doctor. If you chose to lend your hand to him onboard I doubt there’d be any complaints.’

The Doctor frowned, feeling like he should defend the man that he vaguely remembered patching him up.

‘A cook tends to have the sharpest knives.’

‘That’s why the men would have no complaints.’

Her cheeky tongue-touched smile made the silence that stretched between them feel pleasant and companionable. It gradually faded from her face, and was replaced with consternation.

‘Did you really break out of your cell?’ She asked eventually.

He only had time to raise his eyebrows in response before the sound of heavy fabric fluttering drew her attention. She looked directly up to see the false colours they were flying were dancing feverishly.

Her eyes widened.

‘A favourable wind, Captain!’ A man yelled from the rigging.

A manic grin spread across her face and all thought of the Doctor fell from her mind.

‘What we’ve been waiting for gentlemen!’ She whooped. She turned tail and dashed to the stern to take her place at the helm.

‘All hands to stations, we’re taking her to full speed! Flank if we can stick to the following sea! It’s time we took our bitch for a run!’

The crew hollered in excitement around him, ignoring him as they scampered about the deck.

They worked like a well oiled machine, Rose barking orders at them as she steered. They obeyed without question, and soon the sails filled to bursting as _The Bad Wolf_ carved its path through the sea.

It gained great speed, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. The heavy warships of the navy couldn’t compete with the sleek velocity of a brigantine like this. The tilt of the deck as she coursed through the water brought only one image to mind: the lope of a running wolf.

It was not long at all before they gained a considerable distance on the fluyt, which only now seemed to notice all was not well. It too was gaining speed, but would be easily outflanked.

‘Raise the Roger!’ Rose yelled over the wind.

He watched a scrawny man clamber up the rigging to remove their false colours and replace them with the ships own rightful flag.

From his fixed position directly beneath the mast it was difficult to see its design. He craned his neck upwards to get a view as it beat in the wind. 

Piece by fluttering piece he assembled the image in his mind’s eye.

A white skull sat on a black backdrop, in the centre of a tangle of thorns. At each thorn’s tip, a bead of bright red blood. It was a design that was both fearsome and informative. There was no mistaking who was bearing down upon them, and what their fates would be, should they choose to resist.

 _The Bad Wolf_ fired warning shots at the merchant ship as soon as it was in range. As if on cue, every spare pirate gathered at the rail, yelling and brandishing their swords.

The doctor could see the crew of the other ship too now. They scampered about in a frenzy, but he could not see their captain. One by one he noticed her crew members freeze in fear.

A boy scrambled up the rigging to raise a white flag, but before he could fix it his hands fumbled and it whipped away in the wind.

The Doctor shook his head defeatedly as Rose's crew laughed. It was a pitiful thing to see a crew fall so quickly, though perhaps it was for the best. An early surrender often meant mercy in the imminent capture.

First they threw grappling hooks to catch in the other ships rail, and lashed the two vessels together. Next came long, heavy wooden planks which, with a show of sheer manpower, were pushed across to breach the gap.

Rose's men filed onto the other ship, scaring the smaller crew into a line against the furthest rail. They jabbed them and cajoled them until the entirety of the small crew sat on the rail, an arms length apart from each other. The Doctor counted 15 men, less than half the number that crewed _The Bad Wolf._

It was only once they were settled into a stunned silence that Rose journeyed across the divide. The sway of her hips was accentuated by the holster that rested against the thigh of her brown breeches. Her shoulders were drawn back and she arched her neck, giving her a dangerous stride.

He watched her from his place against the mast, eyes following her every movement.

She paced slowly along the row of men, perhaps informing them of the nature of their capture. She stood before one man for a moment, then crossed to another, who she talked to for longer. She made a show of turning away from him and looking out to sea.

After a moment Rose turned to the smallest figure sitting on the rail. With a lazy flick of her hand she gestured that he should come forward. She crouched a little, to be at his eye level.

She leaned in close to the cabin boy, seeming to ask him a question. The lad shifted uncomfortably, kept his eyes staring at her feet. She placed a finger under his chin and angled his face up to look at her. She nodded, and he seemed to answer.

She left the boy’s side, striding across the deck to the man furthest to his right. She stood tall before him, tilted her head as she spoke. Then, without warning, pulled her pistol from its holster and shot him in the head.

His body fell backwards over the rail and into the ocean. A mist of red hung in the air before it too disappeared in the wind.

The Doctor’s jaw dropped.

A brief panic swept through the other 14 members of the merchant crew, but any protests were stopped in their tracks as Nod joined the Captain’s side, clearly intimidated by his mass.

Nod nodded, and they both went to explore the hold.

While they waited, her crew joked amongst themselves. Surprisingly, they also seemed to share a joke with their prisoners.

Rose came back above deck biting into an apple. She yelled some orders to her crew, then returned to _The Wolf_ with first mate in tow, leaving Nod in charge.

The Doctor watched slack-jawed as she hopped over the rail, a pleased smile on her face. She took another bite of the apple, relishing its sweetness. Fresh fruit and vegetables were a rarity on the sea, making today’s haul seem all the more successful.

She caught the Doctor’s stunned stare and flashed him a grin.

‘Got something for you, Doctor! Well, actually I got it for Mickey, but he didn’t seem so chuffed.’ She elbowed the first mate in the ribs, who muttered something gruff about ‘not wearing that sort of thing’.

She pulled a length of blue silk from where it was tucked into her belt and draped it about his neck. She surveyed him for a moment before tying it in a knot at his throat.

‘The colour suits you, Doctor. Brings out the colour of your eyes I think.’

She turned to take another look at the merchant ship. Her men were already hauling great swathes of high quality fabrics up from the hold.

With a pleased ‘hmph’ she turned her attention back to the man secured to the mast.

‘Now, where were we before the wind picked up? Oh of course, your enlistment! Master Smith, if you’ll untie the Doctor and accompany us to the navigation room? I believe our quartermaster has the situation under control...’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should expect some history from the Doctor.  
> Might we find out how he came to be floating in the sea?  
> Probably. Almost definitely.


End file.
